


Another Dog to be Trained

by just_kiss_already



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Boot Worship, Face Slapping, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sub!Frank, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_kiss_already/pseuds/just_kiss_already
Summary: Frank feels like he's losing his mind, so he finds someone to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hello! So... I guess I missed no shame November (when I started this). To be honest, I'm pretty shameless anyway. This doesn't even have some of my weirder kinks. I was going through my wips and, after rereading the first few paragraphs, decided to finish it real quick.
> 
> No beta so please let me know if there's any errors.
> 
> Maria is Frank's wife. A little OOC for her, this was written before the Punisher show came out. 
> 
> Word about the warnings: Frank essentially kidnaps an unconscious Daredevil and takes him home. When Matt wakes up, he's confused and uncertain but is more than willing to go along after he mentally catches up.

It's so difficult lately. It's overwhelming. Maria knew, she knew how to take care of him. Knew how to handle him. She could get downright wicked, get him all messy and crazy. Make it so bad until he came out the other side whole and pure and good again. He needs it. Damn he needs it. He needs a strong hand and a mean streak. And without release his crazy just goes all over the place and ruins everything and makes him senseless. Blind and deaf and mute so all he knows is the guns in his hands and the crosshairs and the blood churning like the ocean in his ears. One batch, two batch.

It seems like it was a millennia ago and also just the other day and somehow that makes it worse. Makes it even harder to function. Needs a partner to shape that crazy and take it away. He can't sleep, he's so full of anger. He can't eat or shower or breathe, he can't think, the world barely exists outside his rage. He's the glowing white-hot center of the universe and there's no one to keep him from going supernova.

So here's this idiot in a red suit. Preaching at him. Trying to instruct him. Trying to control him. No killing on his turf. Damn idealistic fool. Running around in his onesie with his little horns, trying to punch the world into shape one criminal at a time and has the nerve to say Frank's the one doing it wrong. Deserves to get shot. Deserves to be shot right in his kneecap and fed to the angry wolves, fed right to Fisk himself. Swallow him up, one gulp. Bunch of god damn small-time lunatics. 

But then it all goes to shit and Frank finds himself in a prison, in a hospital, in a torture room, in his home. All bad and wrong and making him feel even crazier. And Red's there the whole time, preaching at him, trying to shape his anger. And Frank finally gets it. Doesn't know if it's luck or if Maria is somehow nudging things with her celestial finger, a fucking angel moving everything behind the scenes to her liking the way she did, the way Frank always liked her to. He wants to think she handpicked her stand-in, even if he is a stubborn fool.

Frank finds himself saving Red a lot. He's not following him, not trying to be some kind of lap dog, some guardian, hell no. Especially not if Matt's gonna be yapping in his ear afterwards every single damn time. Like that's supposed to make a difference. And if Frank's maiming instead of killing nowadays, that's his own choice.

It gets worse, though. Always does before it can get better and Frank needs to get better soon. He's feeling the molten core of his anxiety and rage and it's just fucking bedlam in his head. Total chaos. So when Red stumbles out of a building like he's drunk, like one too many knocks to the head, Frank finds himself seething as he races down the seven flights of stairs to the other man's side. 

Seems right, though, carrying him through the door to his safe house in his arms. Reminds him of carrying Maria after the wedding. Over the threshold. Tosses Red on the threadbare couch, peels the ridiculous mask off, lifts his eyelids, remembers he's blind. So no pupil response. Damn.

Frank slaps Red's cheeks a little. "Wake up," he grumbles. Somewhat worried because this loose jumble of unconscious limbs offers his only glimmer of salvation. 

He doesn't stir. Breathing okay, heart okay, just out for the count. Concussion, maybe? Frank licks his lips, glances at the door. Hospital. Doctor. Meds. Help. But his hand is resting on Red's shoulder, the other cupping the man's neck, he's kneeling over him. He blinks hard. Mouth watering.

Frank starts opening the stupid red suit, maybe the man can't breathe, he wouldn't know, he's not a doctor. That's a thing you do, loosen shirts, let them breathe. Right? Pale chest, almost hairless, smooth and muscled. Nothing like his. Scarred but not like his. And he likes it. Maria was smooth. Maria was pure. Only a saint can offer redemption right? Only an angel could give him peace. Trial by fire for them both. 

Red stirs and breathes hard, a pained sigh. Too soon, Frank isn't quite ready yet for him to get up and walk away. How's he supposed to explain what he needs? Maria just knew, she just read his mind and gave it to him. Is it different with a man? Is he gonna be able to understand? He's Catholic, ain't he? All that guilt. Confession. Flagellation. He has to understand. 

"Frank?" Red asks, groggy. 

Sitting up straight, Frank frowns. He can barely speak a full damn sentence anymore, how's he supposed to explain this. But he does know how, doesn't he? He remembers the way he showed Maria when he was feeling evil and needed her help right away.

As Red struggles to sit up, props himself up on his elbows, Frank gets to his feet, staring down at the other man. Probably breathing too hard. Clenching his fists, grinding his teeth. Says a lot already, that right there. But is Red too concussed to hear it.

Red inhales sharply. "Frank, what happened?" He's confused, it shows on his face. A good face. Kind of round and soft and unfocused. Pretty face. The kind you could show your ugliness to and know you'll be forgiven.

So Frank asks for forgiveness. In the worst possible way, he knows, but Maria always showed him the way to redemption. He drops to his knees and grabs one of Red's legs, grabs a muscled calf in one hand and cups the heel in the other and bends down over it. Red twitches, muscles bunch, his calf flexes under his fingers and makes Frank's mouth water. He wants to bite the swell there, bite that thick muscle so hard his teeth meet, click shut. Bad sign if he's thinking like that. So instead he bends over and presses his tongue to the tip of the boot and licks.

Above him, Red inhales sharply. Above him, watching him from on high, sitting in judgement. That's about right. Does he get it yet? Frank feels the heat in his belly, building pressure, it forces an animal growl out. It's good, though, it's so fucking good. He licks another wet stripe up the boot, and another. 

"Talk to me," Red whispers. "What are you doing?"

It's against Maria's rules but he's gonna risk it, Red doesn't know the rules he's supposed to enforce yet, so Frank dares a glance up at the other man. Red's still sprawled back on the couch, his chest is heaving, sweat beading his forehead and upper lip and chest. Frank wants to lick that, too.

Red's flushed, biting his lips, he wants it. But it's not quite right. Frank needs him angry, needs him fighting. He needs him to take what he wants. Punish him for being so fucked up, for being filthy and low.

He grabs the other man's hips, hauls himself up along his body, pressing against every inch as he slides up. Frank's chest rubs against Red's dick through the uniform. It's hard and Red jumps like he's being electrocuted.

Straddling his waist, Franks sits up, snarling, and slaps him.

Red's head bounces against the arm of the couch and he freezes. C'mon, Red, get with the damn program. Frank raises his arm again but as he's swinging Red's hand flies up and he grabs his wrist. That's more like it. Fuck yeah.

With every ounce of strength, Red pushes Frank back and he goes willingly. Should be on the floor anyway. Where he belongs. Frank writhes on the floor, offering himself, he knows Red's blind but maybe he can sense the shameless way Frank is spreading his legs and lifting his hips in the air.

But he just stands there, panting, fists clenched. He looks good, looks dangerous in his red and black devil suit. But he's just standing there.

"C'mon!" Frank roars. He flips over, crouching down, ready to launch himself. "Fucking come at me!"

And he does. Finally, finally he does. Red's gloved hand has the weight of armor and sends him sprawling, his head spinning. Frank groans, he can't help it.

"You," Red starts, but he's lost. It's okay, it's okay to be lost, they can find the way together. "You bastard..." Frank crawls over to him on hands and knees, wraps his arms around Matt's thighs. Rubs his face hard against his crotch. Hurts. Hand fists in his hair, yanks his head back. "Open your mouth."

Oh. Oh. Frank's hips twitch, he's rutting against Red's leg, he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. Panting so hard it borders on a continuous roar. Gloved thumb slips into his mouth and Frank sucks. Taste of dirt, blood, tastes even better than the boot.

"Take, take my suit off. Take your clothes off." His voice wavers but it doesn't matter. Forgivable lapse. He's learning so quick.

Frank shucks off his boots, jeans, shirt, then shuffles back to Red on his knees, slides his hands over his body, looking for the seams. Hard muscle, compact body, just squeezing his thighs and ass and pecs and biceps, head still spinning, cheek aching, and Frank's ready to cum.

The suit comes off in one piece, he tosses it next to Red's boots, stares hungrily at the rest of his body. Waiting for a command. Does better with a command.

Red's getting it. He's figuring it out. His voice is steady this time. "Get on all fours."

Like a dog. Frank turns his ass to Red, proffering it, head hanging down. Bare foot rests on his ass, sends a thrill down his spine, expands the heat simmering in his gut. His dick is bouncing in the air and it's humiliating. Perfect. Red abruptly pushes with his foot, sends Frank sprawling, prostrate.

Red immediately follows, drapes himself over Frank. He uses one hand to shove his face against the floor, grinding it in the filth, splits his lip. "Shut up," Red says and Frank realizes he's growling again. 

Red's right glove is in Frank's face, fingers probing at his mouth, so he opens, swirls his tongue around the tips, sucks hard.

"Get them wet," Red pants.

Frank gathers spit in his mouth, he's drooling around the fingers, it slides down his chin, his neck. Sordid. Red pulls his hand back and then those same sopping wet fingers are probing his ass, smearing his spit all over his hole. The small edges of the armor plates catch on the skin, pinch and hurt, but then there's a finger forcing it's way into his ass and that hurts worse. A sound comes out of Frank, starts in the back of his throat, his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. A second finger nudges his burning flesh and the sound explodes out, raw.

Red shoves his fingers in further, too rough, and Frank cries out. The other man pauses, waits, trying to gauge if he's gone too far, so Frank lifts his hips and impales himself even further. Fucking hurts. His eyes are watering. He loves it.

The fingers are gone. Sound of spitting and then Red is reaching between them, yanking on his own dick to get it wet before shoving it between Frank's thighs.

"Squeeze your legs together!" Red snaps. So he does. And Red starts awkwardly thrusting against him. Repositions so his forearm is pushing against his head, crushing him under his weight, feels like he's going to bust his nose again. He tastes blood. Red pants, "you gonna cum?"

He is. He's close, just rubbing off on the wood floor, it hurts and he's chaffing and it feels right.

Red pulls away and Frank grunts in frustration, but then he's getting rolled over and Red's slapping him again, he's rubbing their cocks together and wraps his hand around Frank's throat, and without warning Frank cums, the fire in his gut swelling and burning through his entire body. Brushfire. Clearing out the dead bullshit. Groaning, Red's sliding easier now and it feels wet and hot between them and then he's cumming, too. 

Collapsing, Red rolls off of him and lays there, sweaty and messy and exhausted. And Frank just smiles. He knew Red would understand.


End file.
